When the End of the World is Home
by SenpaiLorac
Summary: Admitting that you need people was not her strong point. Needing people made you weak. But as she looked over the dancing flames she knew, these people were her people. They had saved her and she had saved them. Again and again - Rick, Carol, Doc, Shane...they were hers and she would protect them. She had to - being alone was no longer an option.
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

"Shit." The word puffed out almost silently against her ear, the arms that curled about her frame were strong and she had never felt so safe. That was actually a lie. A much needed lie. She needed to feel safe. If the horde of walkers had anything to do with it. They took their time, like always, walking through the cars in the midday's sun. The arms that gripped her slowly inched her backwards, how he was able to manipulate the both of them without causing them to stumble was something she would have to ask – if they survived this.

She watched as Doc and Glenn both scrambled into a minivan, slowly sliding the door until only a small gap was left. Lori and Carol disappeared behind the car they had just been looking through and she looked to see Carl and Sophia looking lost and unsure. Brave children they were, so quiet. She wondered for a moment how many other children hadn't been so brave. How many had started to cry when they should have held their breath?

It was a horrible thought and it caused her heart to ice over just as she felt herself being pulled down to the ground. She didn't take her eyes off the approaching horde, but she did sideways glance at the man that was currently falling into the empty space behind her, she watched as he instructed the kids to get down and under the car. The two of them shimmied their way under a truck; she looked to the opposite side and into the dead eyes of a human that had been dead for weeks if not longer. They were shriveled, the eyes, but she could still make out the pupils in them. Dilated and wrong. Death was not pretty.

Looking to Rick at her side she frowned deeply and mouthed, "Where is T-dawg?"

He shrugged, he wasn't their concern now. The man shouldn't have run off. He would have to hide from the horde on his own. She frowned, and scooted just another inch so he could manage to slide all the way under the small S-10. How did she fit under here? She blinked at the realization and then felt a wave of claustrophobia. Fuck. This was not the time nor the place. Her breathing escalated and she found herself digging her nails into the asphalt.

It was his hand that reached over and gripped her's that stopped her. He put his index finger over his mouth in a silent gesture and she knew right then that she had to pull herself together or else.

Following his gaze she saw Carl looking dead at them. Brave and bold that boy was. And then the shuffling of feet started to pass their vision – keep looking at us, keep looking at us, it's okay it's okay…was the mantra she was repeating in her head to the two children. Please…

* * *

 **CHAPTER ONE: Hollywood's Zombies Suck  
The Doctor is In**

It was bloody.

People never really understood just how bloody. They always assumed that it was a few splatters here, a pool of it there – but they would never fully grasp the reality of it unless they were hands deep like he was. Not that he wasn't aware of how bizarre his acts were to others. Truth is he knew there was something different about him. Always had been something off. A slight tick where there should not be. A lingering longing of the inappropriate mixed with an appreciation of gore deep seeded and set. People tended to shy away from things that were ugly, things that were messy, things too real. He had always flocked to them.

Curious and waiting and wanting.

It was how he had found himself in this line of work. His family had been against it. Not wanting him to fuel a fire that they did not approve of. For a while they tried desperately to convince him of other careers. Countless avenues of 'please-not-that-what-about-this' had crossed his path and each time he had to turn them down. He turned down every single one, because he knew what he wanted to do. He had known since he was a small child. From the very first moment he had discovered what lied beneath the skin.

He was perhaps four, it was summer, of that he remembered. Hot and sticky and filled with sprinklers and bike rides. It was the first time he had ridden his bike without the training wheels. Even back then he felt the overwhelming need for independence. He did not want to be helped. It was either he did it on his own or he did not do it at all. The training wheels needed to go. So they went. He wasn't bad. He had the balance and the strength and after a while of being watched, his mom decided he was safe enough to play alone. Around and around the cul-de-sac, he went. His imagination running wild with impossible adventures at the way the wind slapped his face and the trees blurred in a mix of green and brown in his vision.

Caught in his child imagination, he paid no attention to the way the end of the street sharply dipped. Up in the cul-de-sac it had been safe. But safety was boring and so he had peddled his way down the length of the road and with a rush of adrenaline he sped to the end of the next road. There is was. The smallest object that caught his tire in the perfect angle that had him wobble once, twice, and then topple over in an almost 'too dramatic for what it was' fall and a loud snap of pain just below the elbow.

It had been a beer can.

Crushed.

Still to this day he was unsure how such a thing would have caused him to fall and break his arm, but he found himself grateful for it. Without it, who knew what kind of passions he would have? One flattened beer can and there he was, sitting at the far end of the neighboring street with a snapped arm and a strange jagged white tinged with red stick poking out from what once had been smooth and unmarked skin. It hurt. A large part of him wanted to cry it hurt so bad. Looking around, he realized he had two choices: sit and cry or get up and go home. Home sounded like the better option, because home is where whatever this thing was could be fixed. Mom would make it better. She always did. Still, he remembered just how amazing it looked. A small, jagged, little white thing. Now he knew he was looking at a splintered bone with his muscle and blood dangling off it, but back then? The innocent curiosity was set aflame. He would never be the same.

And now here he was.

Nearing thirty years old staring down at the dead body of a forty-six year old Caucasian male. He had died in a car crash. The entirety of the left side of his face was gone. Most likely left back at the crash site on, what appeared to be due to the remnants of gravel upon his distorted features, the road. The cleaning crew would have a field day if the other two bodies looked anything like this man.

It was a messy one.

He briefly wondered if one of them had been drunk. Perhaps had fallen asleep at the wheel? It did not matter at the moment, but it would in his reports. Reports. The one part of his job he hated.

They were necessary though. People needed to know. Families depended on what he did in order to put their minds at rest. To start the grieving process.

He was a fucking hero, he knew.

Just unknown, unnamed and unwanted.

Still, a hero.

Even if it was just him and these dead folks knowing that.

The other two bodies were odd. Neither one appeared to have been in the same crash. They looked almost perfectly okay, save for having strange bite marks on both. One on the lower calves, the other on the arm.

The only evidence that they had even been in the car was the slight bruising along their bodies from the restraints. Yet, why did the man look so much worse? Perhaps he had been thrown from the car? Stepping around the bodies he went to the phone to call the Sheriff's department. He needed to know, because by the looks of it, he would never say they were in the same accident. It was suspicious and such things needed to be voiced to the proper authorities.

"Grimes," was the deep answer on the receiving end.

"Hey...," he greeted politely but paused as the doctor was unsure how to proceed, "Got a question for you Sheriff: are you sure these three were in the same crash?"

A small pause indicated that the man was probably either, one: recollecting the crash and what he had seen, or two: wondering why he would be asking such a strange question. Doc never double questioned.

"Pretty sure, Doc," was the answer. "I was there when they removed all three from that mangled up truck. Why do ya ask?"

He sighed and shook his head, then realizing that the Sheriff wouldn't be able to see him he replied, "The last two don't have any kind of crash wounds. Except for the restraint marks. The man, though? He looks as if he had been mauled by a starving lion."

"I know," Grimes answered grimly, "I had wondered the same thing, but I was there, all three were in the truck."

The doctor sighed, disappointed by the lack of clarification, "Alright, good to know."

"Need anything else, Doc?"

"No, thanks Rick. Have a good night," He dismissed.

"You too." Grimes responded before the swift dial tone flooded the receiver.

He hung the phone up and returned to the first man. Looking down at his body he frowned deeply when he noticed the fingers move. What the…he threw aside his clipboard and stepped to the man's upper half, reaching down he put his fingers to his pulse point and the rush of panic and, strangely, fear gripping him when he made note of a weak thrum.

"Fuck," he cursed gravely under his breath and turned to get back to the phone.

But he was immediately halted when the hand shot up and grabbed his arm. Looking from it towards the man lying on the table he knew instantly something was terribly off.

Either that or this man really did not like waking up in the morgue.

The man actually snarled at him. It was pulling him close to his open, mangled mouth and his first instinct was to shove the body off. Thankfully, he was not a weak man by any means. Years of being in the military had toned him in a way nothing else would.

Still, the man was crazed.

His eyes were both yellow and bloodshot and the irises seemed to bleed outward, his mouth was gaping as if he was trying to eat the air and the way his body moved – dear whatever the fuck, this thing is a zombie!

And though he knew the conclusion to be absurd, he could not shake the feeling of it, especially when it the man stood and started jerkily walking towards him; his mouth wide, groaning and hissing. Retreating across the room and into his small office, the freaked out doctor slammed door shut and picked up the phone once more.

Dialing the Sheriff and cursing as the phone rang.

"Shit fuck, fuck shit, please pick up!" He cursed into the phone; his right hand that clenched the phone trembled. The sound to fingers clawing the other side of the wood spurred the doctor to scoot and press his weight against the door.

"Grimes," came the automated response.

"RICK!" He damn near shouted into the speaker. "THE MAN IS ALIVE! AND…." He couldn't help but flinch away from the door when a loud bang sounded at the other end. Steeling his resolve, the doctor pressed himself harder against the wood hoping his weight could keep the undead at bay until someone came to help. "And I think he's trying to eat me!"

There was a pause on the other end of the line before a soft chuckle, "What?"

"DON'T FUCKING LAUGH!" He snarled into the phone as he looked through the windowed wall towards the operating room.

In horror he noted that the other two victims were up and moving their way to the closed door.

"All of them, Rick, all of them are up and …" Another loud crash and the distinct sound of medical equipment clanging on the tile floor. "They are trying to eat me…" The doctor was sweating in terror, his heart beating almost painfully under his chest plate. The only thing he could hear was the groans of the walking dead bodies and his own blood pumping in his ears as adrenaline hit.

Rick, however, heard the commotion on the other line and launched from his chair, startling his partner sitting across from him.

"Doc!" Rick hollered, alert and worried while grabbing his King County Sheriff's Department hat."I am on my way. Do you have anything to defend yourself?" He questioned hurriedly as he gestured toward his partner and best friend Shane Walsh.

Looking around his office he swore under his breath before he zeroed on the Tokyo Ghoul Ken Kaneki paperweight he used for his loose unfiled papers resting calmly on his perpetual messy desk.

The unblinking stare of Kaneki peered at him as the trapped doctor considered the heavy statue as a possible weapon.

He gulped loudly, wetting his dry lips, "Sorta."

"Good – if they get through, you use it. I am on the way!" Rick assured him.

However, once the line went dead, that assurance meant less and less as the scratches and hissing of the reanimated dead bodies continued.

Tossing the phone aside, the doctor steeled himself and leapt from the floor, nearly tripping on the ends of his long lab coat as he tried to get his large feet underneath him. Seizing the Kaneki statue from his desk, he quickly returned to his position in front of the door and leaned against it. He held the paperweight in his fist so unbearably tight his knuckles were turning white.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The door would soon give way and he was positive this was not going to end well. Most zombie films made it clear – don't get caught in a corner. And he had done that to himself. Shit. He looked around the room, nearly manic, and then smiled wide when he saw it.

Crossing three steps over to the large filing cabinet by the door, he heaved and guided it over to tip it diagonally across the entry way. The far corner rested against the nearby wall creating a barrier from the living and the undead.

This would have to do. With a great inhale of breath, he knelt and reached for the door handle. Twisting it and giving a shove so that the gap would be seen by the three things. Sure enough, they noticed. A great roar of excitement went through them as he straightened and watched bloody, mangled fingers tear the door open. And he did the only thing he knew he could do.

He bashed the fucker in the head with Ken Kaneki.

Again and again and again.

Blood and brains and scalp and skull.

He would have found it almost beautiful in the abstract sort of way it was flying about the room if the damned thing wasn't still trying to get through the barrier to rip into the warm, soft flesh. So he smashed it again.

And again.

One down, but the danger had not yet passed.

The other two dead bodies stumbled slowly to what could have been their next meal.

It was loud and smelly but in a strange and almost surreal type of way, rather freeing. Although that thought was fleeting as he jammed the statue one last time in the head of the third ravenous creature and watched whatever light of life in its greying eyes dim. With a padded thud it fell on top of the other two bodies.

Dead.

Given the circumstances dead did not mean dead, rather he concluded they were _super dead_.

For a good five minutes he just stood there. His hand still wrapped tightly around the paperweight, but now it was covered in blood and various grey matter. The entire of the front of his office looked like a massacre had happened. A near slaughter had almost occurred, and for once the human being was the animal to be slaughtered for consumption.

Splatters of crimson and bright reds marred the once pristine surfaces and he frowned at the fact that he truly had had no color in here before. He needed to fix that. The filing cabinet still sat wedged between the two walls.

Between him and the exit.

Between life and death. And _super dead_.

Perhaps he should change that. Stepping forward, he put his free hand on the under the cabinet and tried to lift it. It was heavy and he would need to hands, but he could not bring himself to free up his other hand. Instead he just shook his head and stepped back, it was not worth the risk should the super dead have nine lives. He would have to wait for Grimes.

Not that it took long. A few minutes later came the quick and sure steps of the Sheriff's Deputy and his partner. Rick Grimes stepped into the doorway, a .40 caliber Glock 22 at the ready and pointed just before his partner Shane arrived on his rear in the same armed fashion.

"What the hell happened in here?" Shane bellowed as the two policemen holstered their weapons surveying the damage and trying to make sense of all the carnage.

"Doc?" Rick asked quietly, stepping forward and somehow not on the bodies, lifted the filing cabinet up and over to rest it back in its rightful place against the wall.

The metal cabinet landed with a loud thud that echoed in the one quiet room. It was a dark contrast to the once noisy room that was filled with the groans, growls, and hisses of the assumed dead bodies that surprising came to life.

"Are you okay? Doc?" He questioned the stoic doctor softly, blue eyes narrowed on the blunt object gripped in his bloody right hand.

All the doctor could do was laugh at the question. Because really, what kind of answer were they expecting?

* * *

 _ **It happened faster than anyone expected...**_

The first few outbreaks had been small, localized and easily controlled. It was not until it reached the big cities where too many people were crammed in too little spaces that it became a problem. Believe it or not, New York had not been the first city overrun, San Francisco took that title. In fact, New York held out for a long while after the initial outbreak. Turns out people in the Big Apple had an uncanny ability to fight. All their hostility came in handy when it came to the super dead. In the end though, the city could only last as long as everyone knew what, where and who. It lasted six days longer than San Francisco. The north eastern coast and the west coast were goners within a fortnight.

He didn't know if it was a good thing or not that he lived in the South. The smaller towns made it easier for the infection to be detected and people tended to be spread out far more than in the larger cities, but it made the wait unbearable. It was only a matter of time before it got to them too. And it did. The way it came was ruthless and full of screams. They had all been expecting something, but nothing like what rolled into town. Or rather, what shuffled into town. Because that's what they did. They shuffled. Some shuffled faster than the others, some even seemed to do an awkward shuffle run type of thing, but regardless it was shuffling that they did.

It had been three months since that incident. His office had once again been painted pure white and there was nothing at all left to indicate that it had ever happened. Except for the door being replaced. He had not wanted it to be, the teeth and claw marks on the wood had made it real, but the company made it happen. That night had been busy with question after question after question and by the time he was done answering them, Rick had seemed to want to ask more. It had been Shane that got the two officers to leave, promising to check on how he was doing later.

It was nice having old school friends in the police department. However, neither one had even bothered to call him. He assumed it was because they were busy with being them. The two had always been a rather demanding duo and he didn't have two shits to give to the lack of correspondence. He was just disappointed that all the red was gone. After the incident, the company had taken care of the bodies. They had not given him word as to why they had reanimated or why they had tried to eat him. He suspected that it was a cover up but hey, that was just how life was now wasn't it? So to work he went. Day in and day out. Clocking in at seven in the morning and clocking out at seven at night. It was beginning to drive him insane.

Perhaps it was the lack of gnarling teeth and clawing hands.

Whatever it was – he knew that he needed to snap out of it. Things happened and that was it. Over and done and life settled back into the normal day to day and he would have to allow that to be his reality. But then again, he had always found that the universe had a way of proving him wrong. Because it was on this day, three months later, that he realized the everyday life he was trying to get an escape from, was about to change forever.

He was at work when it happened. He had watched from the windows of the hospital lobby as the military tried to ward them off. Shot after shot rang through the air, just like they were trained to do. Kill any and all things that could be a hazard. Women, children, the super dead, men, dogs, babies. Death was in the air now and there would never be a moment where he would not remember this. This was the clashing of the end of something and the beginning of hell. When the guns were turned onto the civilians in the hospital, that was when he knew he had to get out.

And that's when he saw him.

Shane.

He watched him disappear up the stairs, purposely avoiding the elevators and he raced after him. What the hell was he doing here? This was ground zero! He needed to be out there with Rick and their families, far away from this madness. He found him in the unit. The unit? Why would he…and as he watched in stunned silence, Shane hustling about one of the patients room, he felt the unease of dread begin to course through his body. There he was. Rick fucking Grimes. Strongest most stable headed man he knew, fucking laid up like a god damn corpse himself. Well fuck that. He turned and started making his way back when he saw the military shove some nurses and doctors against the wall – lining them up.

With wide eyes he turned and found Shane staring at him, most definitely witnessing the same thing.

"I can't leave him," he said, words thick with panic and turmoil. And just as he went to try and help him the sounds of gunfire made him look behind him and down the hall. They were coming. The military having shot the civilians only to be attacked from behind by them. _Super Dead_ things.

Shane, in his panic, locked eyes with him and Doc could think of nothing to say. Instead, he pushed a gurney towards the door, slammed it shut and then blocked it with the large appliance. After locking the wheels he reached over and grabbed Shane's sleeve, "Come on, we gotta get outta here."

It was a struggle to get Shane out of the hospital, but once the two of them managed to sneak past the barrier, Shane seemed to snap out of whatever haze he was in. He had no idea where he was going, but if he were going to survive this: Shane was his best bet. The man was a fighter, always had been. Strong willed and determined.

"Lori and Carl," Shane muttered as they climbed into the old pick up that Doc knew was Rick's, "We gotta go get them. For him." Dark brown eyes turned and grabbed ahold of his, "Rick is dead."

And he knew without needed any further explanation. Rick was dead. No matter what, for the sake of his wife and son, Rick Grimes was a dead man. He nodded only once, and then Shane slammed the truck into drive and took off.

* * *

 ** _Hey ya'll! Just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Carol, I have been a fan of the Walking Dead since I came across the comics a few years ago and when the TV Show came out - well, naturally, I had to watch it! I am a huge fan and though it doesn't follow the comics to a T, I find that the changes/additions/manipulations are well worth it! Anyway - This story is dedicated to my dearest friends all of whom love TWD and I hope ya'll enjoy!_**

 ** _Don't worry - even though its OC there will be PLENTY of Canon for all ya'll who love you some TWD characters._**

 ** _Have a wonderful day sweets!  
-C_**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2: Why Oh Why Did I Do That?**  
 **Tempting Sin**

The hospital was empty. Well it should have been empty. There were a few of the shufflers here and there, but all in all it was a ghost town. It was eerily quiet due to the generators being cut off and she found herself thankful for it.

It was easier to hear something or someone approaching.

Easier to avoid them.

Honestly, she wasn't someone who liked confrontation. She had never been. She liked to keep things calm and quiet, absolutely hated when things got out of control. She had always been the mediator. Always been the peacekeeper with her two sisters.

Her sisters. Talk about a bunch of fighting heathens.

She didn't want to think about them though. Not now. It won't change anything. It won't keep her safe. Memories are dangerous. No use for them.

The broken machete in her grip she had found a few weeks back was down, just like she was, crouched behind one of the nurse's stations to hide from view as she heard the sound of what seemed like an approaching shuffler. She hated this. Because she would have to kill it. She wouldn't make the same mistake twice. She would kill it and it would be dead and it will not hurt anyone because she was too weak.

Sin swallowed thickly, adjusting herself from her crouched position to the more aggressive lunge that would enable her to jump out and accurately land her weapon directly onto the skull. She would have to hit hard, her arms were sore and her back stiff – but life was life and she was going to survive this.

Damn, she was good at pep talking herself.

When the shuffler came into view, however, she hesitated. There was something different about this shuffler. He seemed….she squinted. Shit he was alive. His hand clutching his side and his body hunched in pain. The look on his face was of pure confusion and she could tell, by the look of him, he was weak and most likely dehydrated.

He was not her problem.

She tried to convince herself but damn it all to hell she knew that if she left him, and he died…not that she would know he would be dead, but the odds were most decidedly not in his favor. Sin glared at him and relaxed her tensed body as if it was his fault she was having this damnable debate in her head.

She didn't know him. He could be a crazy person!

Watching him make his way to the outside hallway she knew he was about to leave the hospital. Damnit. Why would he do that? Didn't he know what the hell was out there? And then, like a bucket of fucking cold ice water she understood. His confusion. The pale and strange way his face seemed to sink in. Only wearing a half-open hospital gown, Sin determined this man must have been in some sort of coma.

Left for dead by the doctors and nurses.

Left for dead by his family.

He wouldn't know.

He didn't know.

Oh God – that poor man. Cursing herself and shaking her head, she decided then and there that she would follow him. Just to make sure he got somewhere safe. But she would not talk to him. He didn't look stable enough to talk to.

Last person she had spoken to ….well it didn't matter now did it? Once again, shaking her head of memories of the past, Sin focused on the present.

Memories are dangerous. No use for them.

Carefully and quietly, Sin extended her legs and rose to her full height. Of course, her broken machete was still at the ready in the event any of the shufflers come callin'.

Sin trailed behind him at such a distance she was secretly hoping she would lose him.

She didn't though, the man was moving at a snail's pace. He was in a daze and she could sort of understand why. It wasn't until he went into a long abandoned house did she hear him scream. His voice was dry, cracked, and raspy from God knows how long of no usage. It sounded like a name, two names, and pain radiated through her heart when she knew who they must be.

Family.

She stepped towards the house and crouched low by one of the windows, eyes wide as she surveyed the street just waiting for a shuffler to come along now that the nearly naked man was wailing. Unknowingly drawing attention to him. If he kept this up, there is no way this guy survives more than a week.

More wailing.

It was more than wailing, it was sounds of terrified, emotional, and downright heart wrenching sobs of despair and confusion.

"Is this real?" She barely heard him whisper.

She turned to peak over the windowsill to see him looking at his hands and then watched with a slight grimace as he hit himself on the temple and pounded on the floor. He was all snot and tears, bright red from the intensity of his episode and she wanted nothing more than to tell him it was going to be okay.

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

It would be a bold face lie.

Nothing will ever be okay again.

Instead, she sighed softly and crouched back down, briefly closing her eye. Knowing that he would either manage to pull himself together or he would be another one of the casualties.

It took an hour.

Or she guessed considering the way the sun was now, but she heard him walk out of the house and she was thankful that the man had found some kind of clothes. Not that seeing his naked rear through the opening of the hospital gown had been all that unpleasant, still it was more decent and she felt less perverted.

God she really couldn't stop thinking things could she? The end of the world and here she was…fuck.

He was calling out again.

"Does he not know how to shut up?" She growled lowly to herself, gazing around their area should any shufflers be drawn to this noisy man.

From her crouched position, she could see no shufflers, but instead a young kid holding a shovel for a weapon.

Sin was in shock. That is the second actual live person she had seen in just one day.

After nearing a month without seeing anyone.

She almost wanted to laugh in delight as she rose and started to make her way towards the two people but stopped dead cold when the boy hit the man over the head with a shovel.

What the….?

She dived to the ground quickly, hiding behind the siding of the house as she peaked around the corner and watched as an older man ran to the young boy gun up, killing two walkers and then yelling something to the battered man on the ground.

"Carl…" the hurt man muttered before the blow to the head made him succumb to unconsciousness.

Yet, that name utterance saved his fucking life. The idiot.

The dark man kept his young son from stomping his head and instead, she watched from her hiding spot as the older man, obviously his father, issued an order to his son and the two lifted him to take him away. It wasn't easy to carry all that dead weight, she pondered from cover. The father was taking more of the other man's weight as the son tried to juggle his two long legs and his shovel simultaneously.

Sin began to panic, breathing a little heavier and shuffling her feet as her body wanted to spring into action but her brain was telling her to stay put.

Should she say something? These were the same people that just knocked him out!

"Wait!" She half screamed, half whispered.

She flinched violently as she instantly regretted getting involved even further than she already was.

Her broken machete was held up by both hands over the shoulder as if it were a baseball bat. Sin stepped from around the house, from her safe place of cover, and glared at the father and son duo currently trying to cart away an injured man.

"Drop him." She ordered. Her honey colored eyes flashing angrily with what only she knew to be an empty threat of violence.

"Girl!" The father warned and pointed his weapon directly at her.

Shit.

"I said drop him!" Sin screamed again, no longer mindful of the shufflers. Her broken machete cocked back as she feinted a possible swing. What the hell was she doing?

Although the man holding the gun clearly had the upper hand in this standoff, it was also guaranteed to attract more attention than either party could afford.

"Okay…okay…calm down, we ain't gonna hurt him," he said, his stainless Taurus Model 85 still glaring at her, the sun glinting beautifully off the barrel.

In an effort for peace, he removed his left hand from its position of being wrapped around his right hand, steadily holding the gun. He raised his hand, palm facing outward making a show of it being empty before slowly releasing his finger from the trigger and replacing the weapon behind his slightly dirty pants.

"Seems to be the situation here." He spoke softly with both empty hands raised, trying to placate the young woman to avoid any unnecessary bloodshed.

"He needs help, and I can give it to him." He assured her.

Glaring, she quickly studied him and his young son.

Her eyes shifted from man to son and back to man, "If you take him, I am going with."

He nodded rapidly.

"Well then if you are coming, we need you to help. Grab that bag of supplies there," he gestured to the abandoned bag that he had been carrying before he rushed over to his son.

"Follow us." He commanded with a nod toward the direction they would be heading.

She watched as the two of them turned back around and began making their way up the street with her charge being clumsily supported between them. Her charge?! She huffed and stomped towards the bag, grasping it and, veritably annoyed with herself for ever deciding to get involved, followed the three.

As irritated as she had been following them here, Sin could not bring herself to regret the decision any longer. The Jones' were nice. The little boy was a bit naïve. His name was Duane and she couldn't help but think that he wouldn't survive if he couldn't keep his shit together. He was all about calling for his dad's help. He seemed a bit too old to be this way, but she knew that it was the generation gap.

The kids now days never even played outside and now here he was - forced to fight hell alongside his pops. Who, though tired and obviously bitter, was surprisingly kind. He had fixed her something to eat instantly and even smiled warmly at her when she complimented the way he had spiced the beans.

"Learned it from my momma," he had grunted with a shrug, "Best cook this side of Atlanta."

She only smiled to him politely and accepted his hospitality. Georgia people were always so proud of their food.

Their booze.

Their women.

But they just did not understand anything about any of it when it came down to it. Here they thought they were the best, when she was from Texas. Best thing about being a Texan, is one didn't need to prove their state was amazing. It just was.

"Compliments to her then," she appeased and continued eating.

He was sweaty. That was something she noticed. And it was hard to see the two of them in the dark, but she figured that was better than sticking out like a sore thumb. Perhaps she should try to find some darker clothes, she thought looking down at her four day worn attire.

"Dad!" Duane hissed, "He's waking up!"

Sin didn't see the point in following, she was hungry and they could handle it. Morgan seemed perfectly capable of explaining the situation. Truthfully, she hesitantly found it comforting that she didn't have to talk to the guy she had practically stalked all day. It was probably for the best she only stays the night and head out in the morning. Being around this many people was causing her to feel uneasy.

Too many people to control.

Too many opportunities for someone to make a mistake.

"Your friend in the other room is safe and eating," she overheard Morgan say in his deep voice and she visibly stiffened, her spoon of beans halted halfway to her open mouth.

Putting the spoon back in the bowl, she quieted and strained her body to hear the conversation.

"Friend?" the baffled man in the bed responded.

"Young lady who was with you earlier." He informed and then chuckled, "Damn near chopped my head off for the way we knocked you out."

Although there was humor in his voice, Sin found the situation dangerous.

If the man denied her, she would be a liar.

No one trusted a liar.

Fuck.

Looking around in a panic, she rose to her feet and stole the other can of beans, loading it into her knapsack while heading for the door. No use waiting around for them to come out screaming and demanding her to tell the truth. She wasn't a threat. But, they didn't know that.

However, the answer from the injured man shocked her into stillness, "Thank God – send her in, please…" His voice ringed of relief.

What….

"Sin!" Morgan whispered from the doorway and beckoned her over with a head jerk.

He smiled politely and took his beans from her then strangely enough thanked her as if she hadn't just been about to take them from the house and bolt.

"He wants to see you. Now, talk softly," Morgan reminded. "– he don't have a fever, but he's not doing so hot."

She nodded, not making any eye contact, and entered the room to find the blue eyes of the man in the bed steadying on her immediately. With a strange acceptance of her fate she straightened her back and stepped further into the room and beeline to him. Reaching out she grabbed his much larger hand and squeezed it firmly, taking a seat on the edge of the makeshift bed.

"Thank God…" she breathed and furrowed her brows at him.

Hoping to any deity he would just let this tale be.

"I am glad you're safe," he told her almost smiling.

A look of knowing passed between the man and woman, belaying any notion of familiarity. To a third party, it would appear to be a reunion of two friends, happy, smiling, and relieved the other was safe.

His hand clutched her smaller one tightly once she gracefully attempted to let go. It ensured she remained locked on the side of the bed with him.

"And that you didn't behead our host." The smile was tight and false with no humor in his sunken blue eyes, but the laughter behind her made sure to reveal that he was joking.

For who's benefit, she just did not know.

"Yeah," she nodded uneasy and tried to removed her hand again only for him to grip it tighter, it was slightly painful.

"I just panicked I guess," Sin winced subtly and continued to avoid any eye contact during this little charade.

"Long day, going through that hospital and all." Murmured Sin, her honey eyes shooting to connect with his electric blues. The air instantly charged at their inside secret. And that was her way of letting him know just where she was from.

In his world – she was no body. In her own…he had been a mission in a world mission less.

"You were a little worse for wear all day, I am glad you are feeling better." Her tone was strong, concerning, but her body language was nervous; nervous he would not reveal her little white lie.

Sin took her bottom lip between her teeth, almost contrite, and released it quickly, jutting her chin in slight defiance. She wasn't wrong in following him. He was like a newborn baby giraffe in this new world of walking corpses determined to eat their way through the world population. He should be damn grateful, not making her feel like a scolded child who didn't want to admit they broke a glass.

He nodded sharply and gazed at her once again, his mouth set in a fine line before he looked over her shoulder and towards Morgan standing resolutely at the door smirking.

"If you will excuse us…" He asked softly, eye brows raised.

He had a deep gravelly voice. Hoarse from not drinking anything in who knows how long.

But it was not unkind. It was practiced. Like he had an air of authority and there was no way around it. Perhaps he was a teacher or a principal or maybe a cop or something. He just had that way about his words. She watched as Duane and Morgan left the room and it wasn't until the door clicked closed that she slowly turned her attention back towards the man who still clutched at her hand.

"Who are you?" His hard voiced questioned lowly so as not to be overheard.

Well – that is a nice place to start.

She nodded her acceptance of this question and answered with a shrug, "My name is Sin."

"What?" He frowned and squinted eyes at her curiously, the hard edge in his blue eyes still perfectly evident.

"My name is Lexsina Rockell, but people have always called me Sin," she explained, rolling her large brown eyes.

The typical response when someone asks her name.

Looking down, she noticed the two of them were still clasped at the hands and he judging by his steady grip, he was not letting go. If this continued, her fingers were going to be numb.

"You have been following me since the hospital?" He challenged. "You were at the house?" He continued when she nodded in agreement.

At this question though her face flooded red with embarrassment because, she nodded, yes she was.

He frowned deeply, "I am sorry you saw that. I am looking for my wife and son and…I was in a coma…" he trailed off and finally released her hand.

She jerked it back and tried to rub the soreness out of her fingers.

He glanced at them and sighed, "Sorry – it's been a rough day for me..."

"Well it's been rough on all of us…" she frowned, slightly off put by the way he had handled her. She stood swiftly now that she was no longer latched to his side and bit out, "Who are you?"

He looked up to her and she blinked at the clarity that showed in his eyes.

"My name is Rick Grimes." He answered firmly. "I'm a cop and I wanted to thank you for standing up for me today even if…" he trailed off and she solemnly nodded.

"Don't mention it," she shrugged nonchalant, her attention going anywhere but back to him.

"Why did you?" Rick queried, genuinely confused as to why a person would help a perfect stranger; especially now.

Ah, there it was.

The question.

The one she had no answer for. She didn't think he would believe her either. She looked at him; her honey colored eyes settling in on his bright blue and stared as she picked her brain for the right words.

None came.

With a shrug she just answered coolly, "It just seemed like the right thing to do."

The two of them stared at one another for a while then.

Both falling into a silence that was neither awkward nor comfortable. She was the first to shift away, but she did not move to leave. For some reason, it felt good to be by this man. She had seen him fight for his life, watched him grieve, watched him question reality and had seen him collect all of himself back into a tight package of collected calm. He was someone worth being around. And after a full month, she was so damned tired of being alone.

Perhaps she didn't need to be any longer.

 _ **Hey yall! Hope this week treated your right! Cant believe it is already Friday! Enjoy your weekend, I do not have internet at my house so my next update will not be until Monday. . I am hoping to fix that soon. Wish me luck! :D**_

 _ **-C**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Not so Blind**

If they wanted to be discreet, they needed to look up the definition of the word.

He had known from the first lingering touch that something had shifted in their relationship. It was disturbing. She was foolish. Not just in the way that she clung to Shane, but the way she spoke. How she acted. Like the world wasn't falling apart around her. Like tomorrow everything was going to be okay.

She was worse than the super dead. She was a fucking imbecile.

Doc frowned as he saw Shane walk past his tent. It was rare the former military man slept with it closed; he hated the feeling of being trapped in such a thing without being able to see what was going on. His first contact with the super dead only reinforced this defense mechanism.

Shane had his mind set, his entire body strode with a purpose, back straight, chin high, footfalls heavy, eyes laser focused on the foliage his prey recently disappeared into; and he had to give the man credit – he had a way of keeping things low to the ground. Most people did not know a damn thing. Or rather, they don't care to know so long as it doesn't directly affect them.

He suspected, however, the wife of the woman beater, what was her name? Sheryl?

Carol…that's it, Carol knew.

She had a way about her, a keen observing eye. She was incredibly smart.

Kept her fucking mouth shut, her head down but had her wits about her. Doc absolutely abhorred her husband. If there was anyone that should be slowly devoured by the fucking walkers, it needed to be that fat piece of shit.

That's what the group was calling them.

 _Walkers._

The other person Doc was sure knew what was going on with their 'leader' and Lori was the old man, Dale. Last name Horvath. His was the only last name of their new group he knew because that's how the man introduced himself.

Like his last name fucking mattered.

On several occasions Dale covered for Shane while he ventured into the woods to screw his dead best friend's wife, Doc couldn't care less if someone found out. He felt a pinch of anger and slight shame towards his old classmate. Rick had been a good man. Moving in on his wife so quickly after…he sighed heavily and turned over in his tent to face away from the opening; it belittled the late Sheriff's memory.

Solace was a damning thing.

Shaking his head, Doc let his eyes fall from the passing Deputy and gazed over just in time to see the small face of a boy peaking from the slit of a tent.

Carl.

 _Carl knew._

Judging by the shiny gleam upon his cheeks, cascading from his brown eyes – he understood exactly what was happening.

They held each other's undivided attention for a good moment, neither daring to turn away. Doc knew that the boy needed to get over it. There wasn't room for that type of reaction in this new world. They had all been lucky to even make it to the campsite unscathed. So with a sigh he tapped his chin and jutted it up and out subtly indicating to the boy to keep his chin up.

Carl nodded to him, wiped his cheeks and disappeared completely behind the tents flap.

"Fuck, Shane, what is wrong with you?" He groaned lowly and laid his head back down on the rolled up jacket that acted as a pillow. Throwing his long right arm over his eyes, Doc was finally settled in for sleep.

By some miracle, he had just been drifting off to sleep when the snap of a twig right outside the opening of his tent brought him to full vigilance. The cling of his Ka-Bar being released from its sheath answered the snap. Quickly sitting upright, the seven-inch blade was held in his left hand prepared for whatever was waiting on the other side of the flimsy tent material.

His eyes narrowed in the direction of the sharp noise and directly in the center of the large tent doorway, he stared into the wide eyes of the small girl that belonged to Carol.

Her face was pale, her blonde hair was dulled from being malnourished and her eyes were sunken in as she tearfully plead, "Can you please help?"

Normally, he would have just turned over and ignored this.

He did not want to get involved.

It was always tedious. That was how he had always lived his life. Stick to himself. Avoid people at all cost. Every time he didn't, he ended up with a knife jammed into his back.

Rolling his eyes, he replaced the sharpened Ka-Bar into its sheath with a grunt. He relaxed slighting from his sitting position to now only prop up onto his elbows.

"What's wrong?" He asked fatigued.

"It's my dad…" she squeaked, unable to meet his uninterested gaze.

"Fuck no kid," He nearly snarled with a defiant shake of his head. "Your dad can rot. I ain't going to get in the middle of nothing." He huffed and fell back to his bedding, resuming his previous position of sleep before being stupidly interrupted.

It was a clear dismissal.

Large tears brewed within her eyes and she choked over a sob that threatened to wail, he growled low in his throat and made to turn over so all she could see was his back.

A small hand gripped his shoulder and he felt the weight of her fragile body fall down beside him. Poor girl weighed next to nothing. Although his specialty was coroner, he was still a trained medical doctor and it was clear this slip of a girl has been starving long before the world went to hell.

She weakly whispered, "My mom won't fight back, you know."

There was an older wisdom to her voice that caused his brows to furrow, he shifted slightly and glanced over his shoulder to her. The tears were gone and she was looking to the left, not at him, most likely in the direction her tent was in. It was the look in her eyes that caused Doc to flinch and shut his eyes, troubled with indecision. It was the same look he had seen during his time in the military, that thousand-yard stare of someone who has seen terrible things and has unfortunately grown accustomed to the horrors human beings are capable of inflicting on each other. Nothing can prevent them from reliving it over and over again.

"She don't fight back." She spoke sorrowfully, not breaking her stare of where her mother was being beaten into submission. "Cuz then he would hit her harder, last time she did that he was still mad. He hit me, sent me to the hospital." It was heartbreaking to listen how she spoke so glibly about the damages done to her.

Doc hated hearing this. This wasn't his problem. He flopped to lie on his back, sitting up on his elbows as he regarded her profile. Sophia aged right before his eyes when the girl finally broke her stare to connect with him.

"Nearly died," she confirmed and shrugged; "Now she don't let him get angry at her no more. I haven't been hit once since she stopped fighting back."

During her sad, sad tale, Doc could do nothing but listen earnestly; whether he liked it or not. He was trapped in the soft lull of her voice, an oxymoron unto itself considering the content of the story. The lounging man jerked his head away from her, and lightly scoffed trying to appear as the picture of indifference.

Muffled sounds of an argument broke through the one-sided conversation and he could have sworn the nature around them purposefully quieted so he could hear it. Looking towards Sophia and then over towards the sounds he grunted, grumbled and groaned as he shifted into a full sitting position. His long legs drawn up to press his knees into his chest, both arms flopped over the knees heavily as he sighed with his head downcast.

"Ugh!" He groaned loudly, his broad shoulders moving in tandem. The decision had been made.

Unable to stand directly to his full height inside of the small tent, he waved an arm at little Sophia indicating she should get out of his way. He put his knees under him as best he could in the confined area, ducking and crawling his way out of the tent.

Crouching down to look inside the tent doorway, he pointed a finger and ordered Sophia, "Don't move a muscle until I come get you, ya hear me?"

At her frantic nod of acquiesce, the little girl rapidly shuffled to the deepest part of his tent and sat with her skinny arms wrapped around her skinny legs. It was a clear sign she was going to listen to the kinda mean Doctor's commands and be as still as possible.

While Doc had never sought out conversation with her mother and Sophia, neither had he been downright cruel. Mostly, he ignored them like others had ignored the troubles of the Peletier women; she even caught him at times rolling his eyes when her daddy would be on a tear. The man was tall, big but not like her daddy big, just with a lot of muscles and he was a doctor, which meant he was supposed to help people. If there was any person in this camp who could be mean enough to take down her daddy and who would care enough to do it, it was the Doc. To this hope, Sophia held tight in her heart, tighter than she held her little doll.

Classic slaps of fists to skin became louder as he made his way closer. His gut knotted and his palms started to sweat when he heard a muffled cry, a soft plea for Ed to stop. A gruff, mocking laughter and snarling insults responded to the weak plea.

Doc knew he wouldn't have any other choice than to give this walking piece of garbage a crystal clear message, one he would never forget.

Removing his Ka-Bar from its sheath attached to his belt, he plunged it into the side of the tent and slid it along the nylon with minimal effort. He pushed through the hole, quickly ripping the seams to accommodate his body and drawing to his full height. Standing at 6'1 and Ed at 6'2, they were nearly evenly matched, however Doc took stock of the tent that has become a living area for this family of three, he centered on Carol hunched over with one hand the floor, one hand wrapped around her stomach, and her shoulders trembling from trying to keep her sobs silent.

"The fuck ya think you're doin'?!" Ed hollered outraged at the damage to the tent.

Doc sharply lifted his right hand in a stop motion. There was a tense silence in the enclosed area, the air crackled with unbridled rage practically dripping off the doctor.

"Carol," He spoke calmly, she lifted her head hesitantly the flow of thick tears streaked her red face. Yet his attention remained fixed on the heavy breathing man, no doubt fatigued from the exertion of beating his wife. "Pack a bag for Ed." Doc continued glibly as if he weren't staring down an obese hostile, "He's goin' to be staying in ya'lls jeep for the duration of the zombie apocalypse."

Ed took a small step forward, seething, and his eyes nearly disappearing in his cheeks and clenched a sore fist.

"Who the fuck ya think ya talkin' to like that?" Ed snarled. "I ain't fuckin' goin' nowhere. This my tent and my bitch. So get the fuck on 'fore I turn _you_ into _my_ bitch."

Finally removing his attention from Ed, Doc looked slightly over Ed's hairy sweaty shoulder to address the shivering woman still crouched on the floor. She was too terrified of the situation to make any sort of movement. One of two things could happen, either Doc would get the tar beat out of him by Ed and then he would pass out from exhaustion or Doc would get the tar beat out of him by Ed and then he would turn his attention back to Carol for causing such a scene. Carol hoped however, that if she remained small enough and quiet enough, Ed might not hurt her or Sophia any further tonight.

Oh Sophia.

There was no doubt in the woman's mind Doc's presence here was at the behest of her young twelve-year-old. Since they joined this Atlanta group, Sophia had a bit of a fascination with the tall, surly doctor. She would try to subtly follow him about camp and openly watch him during meal times with no qualms as to who was watching her. Yet, Carol honestly believed the infatuation would pass quickly but tonight's events were all evidence to the contrary.

"Carol?" Doc recaptured her focus on the now rather than her own inner monologue. "Why aren't you moving? Best hurry, I'm quite tired." He calmly encouraged her but Carol simply looked from one large man to the other, not entirely sure which move was a safe one.

A tiny twitch of the fat hairy shoulder was all the notice Doc received before the plump hand of Ed came flying towards his admittedly handsome face. But the notice was not enough to dodge or block the fist that made contact with the left side of his jaw. The wrist was weak behind it, Ed had no training other than beating on women and children; that would simply not do when taking on a red-blooded and now enraged military man.

When Doc didn't fall to the ground as Ed expected, there was a profound stillness to the air. No sound could be heard with the exception of soft sniffles from Carol and a loud gulp from Ed. Straightening, Doc quickly jabbed the man in his upper right gut, right where he knew the liver to be resting. Ed staggered and clutched at his side trying to breathe; there was such a force behind the punch and the pain alone was enough to send him down painfully to one knee.

Carol actually released a loud squeal and covered her mouth with both hands at seeing her husband being taken down so artfully quick.

"Sit," he barked the order to Carol who stood and had gone wide eyed with shock.

Not prepared to go against his orders, Carol sat in the corner without complaint. This pissed off the Doc even further as he could see she responded so quickly to his command out of instinct from years of being battered into submission. In that small moment, Doc felt he was no better than her trash husband.

Speaking of whom…

Doc purposefully approached the heavy breathing man, still holding his right side, hurriedly grabbed his right arm and gave a sharp twist behind his back and hitched it up. This would ensure it pulled at the tendons in the shoulder, the pain would be too unbearable for any sort of countermeasure. Adding further pressure upwards, Ed was forced to stand to lessen the pain of his shoulder muscles slowing tearing and was then marched out of the man-made hole.

Kicking at the back of Ed's inverted left knee, the shaped altered no doubt from years of obesity, Doc fell with the man into the dirt. Laying his entire weight on Ed, the doctor continued to hold his arm in place but adjusted his physical position so he could place his left knee into his prisoner's left shoulder; it would hold him in place for as long as he wanted.

Crouching down, Doc spoke conversationally, almost carefree, "Now that I have your attention, we're going to clear up a few things about our future coexistence."

Ed let out a grunt of pain when Doc intentionally jerked his captured arm upward.

"I want you to remember something Ed, I'm a medical doctor," He continued lightly. "I know more about the human anatomy and putting bodies back together than the walkers know about taking them apart."

By now, the commotion had drawn quite a crowd, namely the little pizza boy Glenn who was disheveled from his disturbed sleep as he simply stood shocked at the spectacle. Shouts to Shane from Dale who stood atop the RV on watch filled the quiet nature scene.

Doc looked around, figuring he only a few more minutes before Shane came to break up his party.

"If you so much as breathe in your family's general direction in a way I might consider threatening, one day you're going to wake up paralyzed from the neck down and left for walker chow." His voice hardened. He stretched further down almost pressing his dry lips to Ed's right ear. "You'll have no choice but to sit and watch as the walkers feed on your organs like you were a _thanksgiving fucking turkey_." He snarled.

"You can't do that. No way the group would let you do that." Ed half-heartedly protested, his right arm was on fire and he was sure the slightest turn would rip every tendon.

Since the damage was being inflicted by their group doctor, there was absolutely no way his injury would get fixed.

Doc laughed mockingly and smirked, "Oh Ed, they would throw me a fucking party. Please, give me an opening, I would _love_ to make my fantasy a reality."

Ed had stopped his meager fighting.

Stopped struggling.

Finally standing from his position over Ed, Doc released his meaty arm and strode back into the nearly shredded tent, paying absolutely no mind to the injured man still lying in the dirt. With each heavy breath, a cloud of dirt particles flew into the air and cause him to inhale the dirt which made him cough hard. Rolling onto his back, Ed held his right arm gingerly, keeping it low as any movement cause a shooting lightning bolt from wrist to shoulder blade.

The hits, however, just kept on coming in the form of a burdened duffle bag landing right on his groin. During the time Ed was getting his ass handed to him on a silver platter, Carol seized the opportunity to finally be free of her abuser and packed a bag as instructed. It was not the outcome she was expecting but she was more than grateful for this freedom given to her and Sophia by Doc. When he entered the tent, Doc froze and was shocked to see Carol standing resolutely with a duffle bag, no doubt filled with Ed's belongings. Rather than snatching it from her, Doc simply held a hand out and waited for Carol to place the strap in his hand. She had yet to look him in the eyes but the quick glances to his face made him believe in time she would be able to hold her head high again without fear of brutality.

Shane arrived just in time to see Ed stumble his way to his jeep, his proverbial tail tucked between his legs. It was silent as a cemetery for a few seconds before Lori rushed to Carol and insisted her and Sophia sleep in her tent until theirs could be fixed in the morning.

"The fuck, Doc?" Shane questioned, stepping forward his hair an absolute mess, wearing only a white undershirt and his jeans remained unbuttoned.

Clearly he was really busy and when Doc turned to Lori, it was obvious they had been up to something considering her appearance of swollen, recently kissed lips and backwards t-shirt. Any release of frustration and anguish he got from tearing into Ed came back again once Doc thought about Shane screwing his best friend's wife.

Doc waved Shane off and began his trek back to his occupied tent.

"Had a problem, took care of it." He insisted.

Shane scoffed and turned to Glenn expectantly, wanting to know exactly what happened. However, a light set of footsteps interrupted the would be debriefing as Sophia nearly sprinted to her mom, hugging her about the waist. They both cried softly into each because they knew it was finally over, their personal hell on earth was over.

* * *

 **Ed didn't join the group during meal time for three weeks.**

When he did, he sat as far away from the group as possible and only silently glared in Doc's direction. He wasn't brave enough to try taking the doctor on again, at least not until his injury was completely healed. Doc would get his, of that Ed was sure.

It made Doc proud to see Ed still barely move his right arm. In his medical opinion it would still be another week or so before full mobility was gained.

In a very bad way. It made him _proud_.

It went against his Hippocratic oath, but it was worth it to see Sophia skipping around with Carl and Carol actually engaging in stimulating conversation with the others.

Sophia had been glued to his hip ever since. When Shane had come to talk to him the night after, anger in his eyes and jaw set, teeth clenched. He had wanted to fight him. Beat him into submission. Make him see that he was the alpha dog and that would have been fine, another fight.

Another day.

That was this world now.

But little Sophia stood in front of him. Feet planted, shoulders pushed back, chin up and she had said simply, "Leave him be."

Shane had been speechless. Carol had seemed proud. While Doc held a tiny smirk.

For some reason the little girl was growing on him. It annoyed him at times because he would watch her, forgetting that it wasn't his job, but still doing so. He did, however, start learning who they were. Ed, Carol and Sophia. The family had lost another. A daughter. None of them spoke her name. As if doing so disrespected her memory. One day, he suspected, one day they would have to talk about her.

He just hoped he wasn't the one they broke to.

He wasn't into that mushy tear jerk shit.

"Get to your mom," he grunted at Sophia, looking at her and watching her smile in the fire light.

She nodded and stood, stepping over people's legs as she made her way to Carol. He looked up to see the gray haired woman smiling at him, thanking him like she always did with that coy smile and blue eyes.

Damn woman.

"You are so weird," Amy, a blonde woman mid-twenties mocked the old man with the fisherman's cap, Dale.

It drew his attention away from Carol as the rest of the group laughed.

Dale chuckled and retorted fondly, "…Falkner, William Falkner…"

Doc shook his head, surveyed the group and contemplated quietly as they all smiled and ate, content in this moment. It sent a wave of unease through him. Typically, when something was going right, that meant something was about to go horrible wrong. The sounds of the night grew louder and he frowned when Amy joked and left the campfire to go relieve herself.

It was the sound of a blood curdling scream that followed, the chaos that erupted, the panic in Lori's voice as she screamed for her son and Carol clung to Sophia that caused him to bounce into action. He picked up the hot poker from the fire and flew at the first walker. It seared its way through its eye socket and he ran to yank it from its ravaged skull. Doc sought out Sophia and her mother to ensure they were within his arm's reach.

"Grab somethin' to use!" he instructed the fearful woman.

Though he didn't have time to double check that she did as he told, the unmistakable splat of heads being caved in let him know the walkers were being taken care of behind him.

It was fast, hard, he had not expected to be so fluid with his movements and though he found it easy, as a military man, Doc knew that their numbers were dwindling. The screams and cries of his people around him indicated that the camp had been weak.

Soft.

Vulnerable.

Laid up with too many people and not enough fighters.

Until he saw the arrow wiz through the air and implanted in the skull of one walker about to make a hearty meal of Dale. Following where it came from his eyes narrowed in on the group that made their way to them from the brush. A rush of disbelief came over him when he realized just who was in the forefront of that group. His eyes wide, his mouth agape, his whole body damn near giving out at the sight and near crippling relief.

Because right there – in all his fucking Sheriff glory – was Rick Grimes.

Dead man walking.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR: Crossbows and Tanks, Really?**

Morgan had been content to stay. Rick had tried; he really had, to get the man and his son to come with them.

Them.

She still couldn't understand what had made her decide to ride with Rick to Atlanta. And oddly enough, ride, is exactly what they were doing. The mare they were currently sharing was strong. It had been such a strange and beautiful sight to see after they had spent half a day walking once the car had ran out of gas. Still, she wished, just for a small moment, that they could go back to the station and she could stand under the hot streams of water that were orgasmic in their existence.

He had other plans.

He was on a hunt.

He was a man on a mission and she could respect that. To find his wife and his son and Sin hoped that he would. She had nothing better to do than to go along with his plans and help him out. It felt right. Oh who was she kidding, she just didn't want to be alone anymore. She was tired of not having someone to watch her back.

That was the scariest part about all of this. Not being able to have security. Not being able to sleep for more than an hour at a time. Fitfully at that: constantly jerking awake at the slightest rustle, always looking over the shoulder, always waiting for the inevitable. At least with someone there was a small amount of assurance. Misery certainly loves company.

"Do you think they're in the city?" Curious as to his thoughts, Sin finally broke the silence that had been lingering between them. They had rarely spoken since the patrol car, whether it was because they feared their voices would cause unwanted attention or they just were comfortable in the silence, she did not know.

He shrugged, "It's a good place to start."

Well that was true. Sin agreed. The rumors of Atlanta having safe haven had been spread like wildfire. The scary part was usually that meant….she shook her head. Optimism. Stay Optimistic.

"I did hear that Atlanta was the best place to go if you needed refuge," she said hopefully.

The Sheriff looked down and caught her gaze as she turned her head slightly to look at him directly. A tiny, almost non-existent smile formed on his lips then and she blinked at the way that looked. It took away years off of him. Perhaps the combination of the large hat he had, the sun beaming from behind him and the look of appreciation on his face, it made her feel better. It calmed something inside her and she found herself smiling back at him.

Hooves to pavement began to echo.

They neared the city quicker than she had anticipated and upon approach, she found herself drifting further back towards the man as best she could. Ever the gentleman and officer of the law, Rick insisted she ride in front just in case they needed to break into a run, he didn't want to have to worry about her falling off.

Rick held the reins loosely in each hand, the picture of easement but sensing Sin's apprehension of entering the big city; he brought his elbows in trying to form a barrier around the young woman. If she were to drift either direction, Rick would catch her instantly. Sin gripped the pommel of the saddle tighter, her knuckles nearly turning white as both of them fell into a tense silence.

Atlanta was eerily quiet.

There was nothing.

No sounds.

No moans.

 _Nothing._

Fear crept its way up her spine causing her to sit a little taller and she titled her head and whispered to Rick, "Something is wrong."

He nodded, sharp eyes narrowed taking in the surroundings as he directed the mare through the wrecked vehicles, the burned cars, the corpses. When they past a tank, left abandoned in the street, Sin realized she had seen it all now. If the military went down – Atlanta is history.

"We shouldn't be here," she heard him say just as they turned a corner and froze in absolute horror at the sight before them.

Building to building there was a wall of shufflers.

Hundreds of them were just standing there, swaying, quiet in their lethargic ambling. And then she saw it. One looked up from watching its own feet move, its blood red eyes looked dead at them, lazy movements jerking into understanding. They were food. Meat. It moaned excitedly. It groaned. Like an alarm to the rest it pulled their attention and they too all began to make their way to a three course meal on four legs.

"Rick," she whispered terrified, her hands left the pommel to grip the strong forearms on either side.

She tried to scoot further back as if to distance her from the shufflers, trying desperately to keep herself from jumping off the horse and full sprinting away. Sin was sure if she pressed any further into the hard chest of the lawman, she would surely morph into him.

"I know!" He nearly screamed shaking off her hands as he pulled the reigns, and sharply kicked the horse's flank.

It sped off, but the sounds of the horseshoes clapping against the pavement and the groans from the mob of zombies only attracted even more; their numbers steadily growing. Before they left for Atlanta, Morgan offered the duo a bit of advice; words of wisdom that were not heeded well enough if their predicament was any indication.

"They might not seem like much one at a time, but when they're in a group all riled up and hungry, man you watch your ass."

The horse galloped for its life, taking direction from Rick while Sin quickly tried to remove her broken machete from its sheath. Rick couldn't grab a gun and the bouncing of their getaway along with the trembling of her hands made the task of pulling her weapon near impossible. However, Sin seized the opportunity to brandish her machete once they began to slow; unfortunately it was not a good thing. Their path in was no longer clear. They were being surrounded and the horse knew it. She started to panic. Trying to buck them off and making too much noise.

This was dumb.

This had been the stupidest of all stupid ideas.

Rick fruitlessly tried to figure a clear path, a way they could escape with their lives; hopefully also with the horse.

The first hand bloodied that touched Sin's right calf was met a quick slice of her machete. It stayed attached but the zombie roared its disapproval of losing a hand. Rick tried; she saw him, a shot here, and a shot there once he was finally able to draw his weapon.

Pointless.

He jumped down and rolled away from the horse, Sin stared at him in shock as she realized she was left up there one hand still clutching the pommel while the other was raised in mid-swing. But it was the fact that he stood, deposited the duffle of various weaponry then grabbed two zombies and damn near threw them away from the horse. Rick reached up and violently yanked her off by the strap of her satchel from the horse that was quickly succumbing to the dead.

Sin sighed gratefully – he did not abandon her.

Of course he wouldn't, the Sherriff was far too noble. It would have been in his best interest to let Sin and the horse be the distraction he clearly needed in order to find his wife and son. At the very least it would grant him time to escape, to live to fight another day. All logic and self-preservation instincts screamed at him to cut bait and run. Yet, this young woman saved his life for no apparent reason other than it being the right thing to do; no way in hell could he live with himself or his family knowing he intentionally left this woman for dead.

"Quick," he ordered bracing a hand on the small of her back and the two of them scrambled away from the horse.

The shufflers descended upon the poor animal, tearing into its flesh and brought handfuls of entrails into their mouth's. Sin never believed the scream of a horse could sound so similar to a human's; it was haunting. Had she not been pulled from the horse, those would be her screams drowning in the groans and satisfied moans of the shufflers.

Sin was confused.

This had been the first time she had been in such a predicament. There were so many. A horde was not the right word. She had taken on a half dozen or so but this? This was death. There was no way they were going to make it out of this. But Rick seemed determined. Seeing her simply staring at the slaughter, Rick harshly gripped her right arm tight and bruising as he literally dragged her through the distracted dead and towards their only form of shelter.

The tank.

He pushed her down and she quickly crawled under it. He followed, Sin stabbed sloppily at the zombies who were trying to follow; given the tight spacing between the concrete and the bottom of the tank there was little to room for a good swing. Rick fired off a few more rounds until his gun clicked empty.

"Shit shit shit!" She cursed loudly.

Looking around desperately for some sort of salvation, Sin spotted a small hatch and shouted, "RICK!"

Pointing one finger at the small, metal door, Sin's full lips stretched to a large toothy grin, her blue eyes bright.

He eyed it in disbelief before opening scooting across the pavement on his back to open the hatch and the two of them quickly disappeared up into the belly of it, ladies first of course. With a loud thud they pulled the hatch closed, a loud screech of metal grinding echoed throughout, and secured it. Rick looked up at her, sweat on his brow, fierce blue eyes searching her face before he pulled her close by her shoulders and started feeling her right leg. The hand from the shuffler must have fallen off during their trek to get under the tank. His hands were groping quickly and though the movements were jerky the exploration was gently. When he didn't find anything wrong he released a loud sigh and grabbed the back of her head with to touch his forehead to her crown.

"Thank God." He breathed, eyes shut.

"I'm okay," she assured him as she rested her left hand lightly on his right forearm.

Sin pushed slightly at his arm, trying to untangle from his hold mildly unnerved with the close contact. If he noticed her aversion to their spontaneous physical contact, he made no mention as he sat back and leaned heavily against the side of the tank. Sin looked to him and then to the corpse beside him, her attention returning to him as she shook her head.

"We're fucked, aren't we?" she said quietly.

Just then the corpse moved.

Rick's instincts and reflexes kicking in, he elbowed its chin, grabbed the gun about its waist, pressed the barrel to its temple and shot. Killing it, but also sending a loud, painful ringing throughout the interior of the tank. Sin dropped her machete, clasped her hands to her ears and cursed aloud though not being able to hear it. The force of the echo made it feel as if her eardrums were going to burst right out of her skull, she squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to wait it out. Rick was in the same boat.

Fuck.

As the ringing slowly subsided, she frowned up to the man responsible and noticed him looking perplexed towards her right. Sin blinked as what sounded like radio static and through the static, a voice.

"…Dumbass. Yeah, you in the tank...Cozy in there?"

What?

Rick hurriedly crawled to the radio nearly pushing Sin out of the way and grabbed the receiver.

"Hello?! Hello?!" He croaked.

Sin sidled up behind him, leaning over his shoulder excited to hear the voice answer back. The person was male and sounded young but he was the eyes outside that the duo trapped inside the tank didn't have. He was there only hope of possibly getting out alive.

"You're surrounded by walkers; that's the bad news," the voiced assured.

Sin scoffed and grabbed Rick's hand pressing on the button to speak, "There's good news?"

"No." The voiced said shortly.

Jerking his hand back, Rick took a breath and spoke again with more of an edge, "Whoever you are, I don't mind telling you I'm a little concerned in here."

The tank was stifling hot.

The heat was bearable outside but inside a metal tin all it did was circulate and basically cook any of the inhabitants. Sin shifted to her knees, sitting back on her haunches and wiped the sweat dripping from her forehead. The air was thick making it difficult to breathe properly; they needed to get out soon otherwise they would end up like the poor bastard Rick took out a few minutes before.

"Oh man," the voice trembled, "You should see from over here, you'd be having a major freak out."

Reaching over again, Sin snatched the receiver and clicked the talk button, "Major freak out. Check."

Once again Rick wrenched the receiver from her and scowled at her. She held her hands up in surrender and then flicked her hands out to say, get on with it.

Shaking his head, Rick questioned, "Got any advice for us?"

"Yeah," the voice affirmed. "I'd say make a run for it."

Make a run for it?!

Letting out a troubled laugh, Sin scooted back from Rick and plopped down, her knees drawn to her chest. She rested an elbow on one knee and dropped her head into her hand. There was nowhere for them to go, the streets were crawling with walkers, or geeks, or shufflers, whatever they were called; they covered every open space. No way would they survive this by making a run for it. Her long black hair was falling from its pony tail, needing a distraction of some sort; Sin released her long thick hair and shook it out. Rubbing the hairline gently to ease the strain the hair tie caused, Sin gathered her tresses and put it back into a semi-neat tail.

Rick asked about the bag of guns the two had brought but the voice advised them not to go for them, but told them they needed to get out of there. Well Sin agreed to that.

The sheriff was moving now, first to the body of the dead soldier intent on finding another weapon but on a near shelf the found a grenade. It was their lucky day. He clipped the grenade to his belt then came to Sin and searched her small satchel for an additional weapon. Digging further past the clothes, power bars, and juice boxes, his hand touched metal.

Returning to the receiver he listed off the weapons, "I got a Beretta with one clip, fifteen rounds, and a .38 revolver five rounds."

"Make them count." the voice advised them, "Jump off the right side of the tank, keep going in that direction. There's an alley up street, maybe fifty yards."

Sin located her forgotten machete and gripped it tight as she put her feet underneath her body, ready to move.

"Be there!" was the last transmission.

That was all the instructions the two needed. Rick looked over to her, she nodded resolutely patting her satchel that was strung across her body and they went up the ladder and out the top door. Rick killed one zombie that was still on the tank with the shovel he took, then tossed the shovel aside and shot three that were in their path. Sin cursed at him, annoyed he was using something that was so loud and reached out to grab him by the wrist. She wasn't the most fit person in the world, but damn it all to hell - she was able to ignore the parts of her that were in pain from the fall out of the tank as she found the strength to drag Rick behind her to the alleyway.

Her machete sliced into three heads individually as they crossed into their path, they were moving slow which allowed Sin to take each one on while Rick fired his gun at the walkers in the distance. Rick slipped in first and she followed just in time to see a young Asian man brace himself from fall backwards with his hands held up, "Whoa – not dead!" he shouted.

The voice was the only reason Rick dropped his gun and the two of them followed the guy down the alley and up onto a fire escape.

Everything was moving so fast. Sin couldn't quite grasp what was happening, but by the time the three of them climbed the ladder all the way to the roof, her lungs were on fire.

"Nice moves there, Clint Eastwood. Are you the new sheriff? Come riding in to clean up the town?" He sneered.

"Rick Grimes," Rick introduced breathing heavy and gestured to the young woman on his right with her back turned towards the men, leaning one arm on the brick wall and the other holding her bloody machete by her side, "That's Sin Rockell."

She raised the machete without turning around and waved it in greeting while she continued to try to catch her breath. Eye squeezed shut, Sin's large chest rose up and down with each breath thanking whatever deity she had the foresight to only pack her sports bras when the world ended; otherwise that would have been more painful.

The young man raised a brow, looked to her and questioned the unusual name, "Sin?"

Rick nodded and held his hand out in gratitude, redirecting the boy's attention, "Thanks for saving our lives back there…"

He regarded the hand and reluctantly took it into his own, "Glenn, you're welcome."

A heavy clang sounded from below and Sin quickly jerked around, her machete raised. The three surveyed the _geeks_ as Glenn called them; one of them apparently learned how to climb.

It was time to move.

The only way to go was up.

She quickly sheathed her machete, now that she had the time, and let Rick guide her to take her place behind Glenn. She wouldn't admit it to these two, but she was terrified of heights. Seemed such a trivial thing, but it was there.

"Bright side: it'll be the fall that kills us," Glenn surmised nonchalant and locked eyes with Sin, "I'm a glass half full kinda guy."

Sin turned back to stare at Rick as if to say, _seriously?_ He simply nodded patiently and jutted his chin up, a simple indication for her to start climbing.

The only woman of the travelling trio seemed to be more interested in their surroundings than the other two. Rather than joining the conversation between Rick and Glenn, she kept her right hand on the machete handle, ready to pull if needed and her blue eyes narrowed on watch for walkers. Glenn opened a hatch that led down somewhere only he knew. They went up only to go down? Sin was desperately trying to memorize every turn or geographical marker in case he was leading them to their deaths.

A part of her was weary of this stranger.

He had helped them too easily, hadn't he?

Then again, a larger part of her liked him instantly. He was animated, talking with fervor and had an air of confidence about him as he traversed the industrial layout.

As they climbed down the darken shaft, Sin called out to him and asked, "So what did you do before all this?"

He grunted once his feet touched bottom and hollered back, "Delivered pizzas. Why?"

Forgetting a moment of where they were both literally and existentially, Sin laughed loudly and shook her head in amazement but didn't answer. They trusted their lives with a pizza delivery boy. It's just as well; Rick trusted his life in her hands, a simple librarian.

Her hands were aching due to her grip, slippery with sweat and white knuckled and she didn't think she would ever feel the same relief that washed over her when Rick's large hands came to grip her waist and helped ease her down off the last ring. Given her shorter stature of 5'5, she had further to fall than the other two men. She looked up to Rick only to find him looking towards Glenn as he made his way across the empty floor towards an exit door. Quickly grabbing her hand, Rick pulled her with him almost like she had done earlier out the door and down a few level of stairs. Four walkers stood in their way.

It was a dead end. It was a trap. She knew it.

But before that thought could formulize into a full panic, a door swung open revealing two men in black riot gear brandishing baseball bats. They ran behind Glenn into the room, Sin being nearly drug behind Rick, her wrist still firmly caught in his hand. He kept her slightly behind him as they entered a larger room where the rest of Glenn's group was waiting.

Glenn motioned to them once the doors shut and they were relatively safe, "Found these two in the tank off Archdale."

They group eyed them wearily and Rick was about to speak when his words got caught in his throat. Sin frowned before she stepped from behind his back and followed his gaze to the the very strained string of a crossbow currently trained on Rick. Sin glared dangerously at the man behind it.

Glenn barked in alarm, "Daryl, what are you doing?"

"Gonna kill us," came the low, deep and gravelly voice of the man. "All that damned racket."

"Put it down man," Glenn begged exasperatedly his hands stretched out, like he was talking to a child.

"Don't think so, Chinaman, this un' needs ta learn a lesson," Daryl disagreed and stepped forward aiming the crossbow lower directly at Rick's leg.

"You even flinch," Sin warned suddenly drawing her machete and lurched directly in the path of the aimed weapon. "And I'll teach you a fucking lesson." She snarled quietly.

She had her machete in her free hand, her wrist loose, and her grip tight.

Just waiting.

Sin stared into Daryl's crystal eyes.

The redneck glared at her, his finger tense on the trigger, his muscles shaking with an anger that was misplaced before he curse aloud and dropped the bow to his side, throwing an arm out, "…now what?"

He deflected the conversation off of him entirely and it worked. The group immediately picked up on the 'whats next' bit and Glenn and Rick seemed to develop a plan rather quickly as they were made aware of the group's true motives of coming to Atlanta. Supply run and to find some guy named Merle.

Daryl's brother, it would seem.

He had come to the city to find some medicine for one of the older people at their campsite a few miles out of Atlanta and hadn't been back in a few days. They still needed the medicine and Daryl needed to find his brother.

Neither had been done, quite yet.

The loud honk that came from behind the building scared her. She jumped and raised her machete high in the air, ready to attack whatever it was. A blush found her cheeks when she glanced over at Daryl and saw him scoff at her.

"Screw you," she hissed and sheathed her weapon as they followed the rest of the group to go investigate.

"I'll be damned," awed the man named T-Dawg. "Hey, Daryl…" he called from the dirty window.

Daryl shoved his way to the front of the group and she cocked an eyebrow when the redneck burst out the door to the haggard man who leaped from the truck.

"It's Merle," Glenn whispered to Rick, just as everyone started climbing into the back of the truck bed, their packs in tow.

Rick and Sin, however, stood away from the group; they hadn't decided if joining them was good idea considering they just met and Sin and Daryl had already threatened to kill each other.

"What do you think?" Sin deferred to Rick yet again.

He huffed and placed his hands on his hips, taking in the small group of men. Glenn had rescued them from shit creek, T-Dawg seemed nice enough, and Daryl was a bit of a wild card but appeared to have a good head for survival.

"Tell you the truth; I don't think we have much of a choice here." Rick muttered quietly to her, resting his left hand on her right shoulder. He was speaking to her but his gaze never left the new unknown man, Merle.

"Weeelll," Merle purred as he swaggered over to the cop and pretty young thing with the huge knockers, "who's this cutie?" the thick drawl of the older man asked and took an eyeful of the new woman.

Daryl informed lowly, "Its Sin, big brother, she came with the badge." He flicked an arm at Rick.

Merle made no bones about wantonly eying her up and down as she made her way to follow Rick and the others to the back of the truck.

"Oh no little lady," Merle blocked her with a disarming smile, "You can sit up in the cab wit Ol' Merle."

Sin raised a brow at his audacity.

Rick immediately interjected, grabbing her left arm and gave a firm tug back to his side. She nearly tripped at the force Rick exhibited; clearly he was none too pleased with the prospect of them being split up. It was a smart move on the group's part, keep them separated until they could vet them but it was dangerous for Sin since she will be left alone for an unknown amount of time with this lecherous man.

"She stays with me." Rick ordered, glaring at Merle.

Yet, Merle replied coolly and shrugged, "You ain't callin' the shots anymore, pig. Imma have-ta insist."

Pulling Sin further behind him, as if to shield her with his body, Rick straightened to his full height and made to advance on Merle. He was stopped by the firm grip on his right forearm.

"Sure thing," Sin agreed, her voice tight as she pressed her body into Rick, trying to keep him from getting himself killed by the redneck twins.

"Whatever you want," she grimaced, swallowing down her nerves.

Merle laughed loudly and slapped his younger brother on his shoulder hard enough to where the dark-haired man stumbled slightly.

"Whatever I want. Now, I like the sound a' that!" Merle held out a hand to Sin, still grinning, "Come on now girlie, Ol' Merle ain't gunna bite ya." He winked.

Rick sharply turned his attention from the brothers to glare at her, upset she went against his wishes and put herself in a situation that could potentially end badly for them both. She removed her satchel and handed it to the Sheriff. Giving Rick a hard look, Sin trudged to Merle but didn't take his offered hand; rather she brushed right passed him to the passenger side. It was dangerous that she openly snubbed him; however Merle just snickered and all but skipped his way to the driver seat.

Rick hated it, but he understood what the look meant. She gave him the only weapon she could easily get to; but it would have been more useful in his own experienced hands. Should anything untoward happen, Rick would be the first one to make a move; the Beretta was empty but the revolver was not. They had no choice but to do as they were told if they wanted to stay alive. It was unclear if this group was good or bad and if the rest of their group was good or bad but it was too risky to remain in the city alone. Glenn's group was their only way out. Sin could take care of herself; she was doing it before Rick but it didn't make him feel any more at ease.

The truck rumbled to life.

Sin sat as far away from the older man as she could, almost intimately pressed against the passenger. It would be near impossible to pull her machete in this confined space if need be; so she kept her right hand on the door handle. Just in case she needed to make a break for it. Sure Glenn was a nice guy but that didn't mean his group was nice.

Sin had experience with a bad group; she had been a part of it. Seen terrible things they do to unknown unsuspecting people. Thankfully, she had the presence of mind to break away in the night.

Bad people do not improve, they worsen.

Perhaps this is why she was so determined to stay with Rick: because he reeked of good intentions and nobility. Maybe doing a few good deeds with him will wash away the stench of shame she carried around from her time with her last group.

 _The trip had been quiet so far._

The only sound was the engine, the wind flying by, the sound of small rocks kicking up, and the bench seat of the cab creaking under the weight of the two adults.

"So, Sin huh?" He said slyly, glancing at her, his left hand resting casually on the steering wheel while the other sat in his lap.

Merle licked his lips and smirked, "That uh short fer sumthin' or is it symbolic in some way?" He cackled.

She heaved a long sigh. Great, he was a talker. Despite his attempt at a conversation, Sin was not rising to the bait.

"It's a long ride, sugar tits. Gunna have-ta talk ta me sumtime."

More silence.

"No? Nuthin'?" He coaxed, turning his head from the road and back to her, then back again.

Yet, Sin stared directly ahead, only changing her gaze to peer into her side mirror. She could see Rick sitting against the right side of the truck, back rigid, eyes sharp; the picture of a man on edge. It threw him to be separated, that much she could tell. He turned to look to his right and caught sight of her staring at him through the side mirror. Sin smiled softly, trying to reassure him everything was okay and he cracked a crooked smile in return.

Merle once again interrupted her moment with Rick.

"Hand me that bag wouldja, little darlin'?" He pointed a dirty finger at the small cloth bag lying near her feet.

Not really seeing the point in refusing, Sin leaned down and placed the bag in the middle of the seat. Rifling through it, Merle pulled out a plastic baggy filled to the brim with something that passed for gold these days: jerky. His hand grabbed a piece and he began to chew on it loudly. Drool pooled in Sin's mouth at the smell of the jerky and at the prospect of eating something that didn't come from a tree or can since the Turn.

Her attention as now fully on the small baggy. Seeing this, Merle held the bag out to her in clear offering. But, he jerked the bag away when Sin reached for a piece.

"Nuh-uh, little darlin'." He smirked and slowly inched it out again, "You give me a full sentence and I'll let ya have sum, that's mah price."

As badly as she wanted to stick to her guns, Sin's stomach was winning the argument between her pride and her hunger. It was just a sentence, what could it hurt? Not as if he can use it to physically hurt her.

Sighing, she relented and spoke softly, "Sin is short for Lexsina, after my parents." Then held out her hand expectantly, her eyes wide and lips pursed, although because they were so large and full, it looked more like she was puckering up to him.

Amused at her short answer but a complete sentence as he requested, Merle zipped up the bag and tossed it into her lap. Poor girl didn't know what to do. She was confused and her face said it all. Brow furrowed, head tilted to the side, girl looked like a little puppy dog.

"You go on. I got plenty more," he stated matter-of-factly, waving a hand at her.

It was so Daryl-like, she was beginning to see the family resemblance. She murmured a quiet thank you and began to chomp on the jerky, not really caring if it was beef or turkey, hell it could be squirrel for all she cared. It was meat. Meat tasted fucking good.

"So…" Merle spoke again lightly, pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it. He blew out the smoke and asked seriously, "Your tits real?"

"Oh my god! Really?!" She shouted outraged, glaring over at him. This guy had absolutely no filter, simply said whatever popped into his head no matter how rude or offensive.

Both of his hands came up in surrender, a little grin playing on his lips, "Relax, little darlin' it was just a joke."

"Hands on the wheel!" She commanded waving a hand at the windshield.

He removed the cigarette from his mouth and snickered, "Ain't nobody on this road but us."

Although she looked out and saw the road was deserted, no cars, no walkers, nothing but leaves fluttering by in their wake, it still didn't make her feel any better. If they wrecked, it would be bad for her but nasty for Rick and the other three men in the truck bed.

"You'd have-ta be a fuckin' idiot to crash out here. I may be alotta things, little darlin', idiot ain't one of 'em." Despite his speech, he replaced his hands on the wheel and smiled toothily at her.

Now that the silence had been effectively broken, there was no going back.

"Why were you in Atlanta?" Sin queried and continued to eat the jerky.

"Some ol' codger at our camp needed some medicine. Our doc wanted to go but I volunteered."

She was impressed, "Wow, that's…awfully brave of you."

"Yeah," he agreed, "Plus, tha pharmacy is right next a liquor store. Wasn't about ta pass that up." He cackled and pulled a silver flask from the cloth bag, taking a sip.

"Well that was short lived," commented the young woman and rolled her eyes while shaking her head.

"Oh now, dontcha be judgin' Uncle Merle," He tsked. "Have a sip."

Taking the silver flask in her hand, Sin tossed it back and enjoyed the cool burn of the whiskey as it poured into her mouth and down her throat. It had been far too long since she had a proper drink and she accidently took too much.

Coughing roughly, Sin handed the flask back to Merle. He howled with laughter and accepted the flask, taking another drink. Sin continued to cough and blew air out trying to lessen the burn.

"That's it, little darlin'," He said approvingly, "Imma make a Dixon outta you yet."

They both laughed heartily. It felt so good to laugh again. Maybe this group isn't as bad as she thought. Subtly, Sin inched away from the passenger door and whether it was actually talking with Merle or the booze, she finally felt herself relax the tiniest bit.

The sun had finally set; they had been on the road for about two hours and the last forty-five minutes or so had been dirt roads. They hadn't been on a paved road in a while.

Merle pulled the truck to a stop and cut the engine off.

"Sumthin' aint righ'," Daryl said ominously as they all exited the vehicle, jumping down onto the dirt path and clenching his crossbow. He squinted toward the left, probably where the camp was located and visible reacted to some sound only he could hear.

"Hear that?" The hunter asked, but no one could hear anything except for the crickets.

Screams.

Merle tore off into the woods and Daryl followed closely behind while the other men and Sin trailed them. Shit. Stopping just at the tree line and going back to the truck to grab the keys, Sin pocketed them hurriedly, and then she started again towards the sounds. They might need those keys if bad became worse.

What she came upon was something out of a horror film.

People were running all over the place. Death was heavy in the air and the sounds of bones being chewed made her stomach churn. Her machete took a life of its own.

She had never been a fighter, but it was instinct now.

She cleared off a section, slamming her blunted blade into the dying people's heads as well. No one needed to know about that. They would turn. There would be a mistake. They needed to end it now.

A few minutes passed that felt like hours, but at long last the only true sound was that of someone wailing. She followed the cries towards a larger campfire site and looked around to find a large group of people all staring with a mixture of worry and sadness at a blond woman kneeling down next to a younger one.

"Rick?!" Came a deep voice, she looked towards it and found herself looking at a rather tall man. He was covered in blood and had a woman engulfing a young girl directly behind him.

"Rick?" asked the tall man again, unbelieving of what he saw.

"Doc?" The Sheriff spoke relieved and marched to him.

He reached out and the two men's hands clasped together before Rick pulled the younger man into a fierce hug. But then, Rick's entire demeanor changed. Gone was the strong and stoic man she had been riding with and replaced was a human. His features shifted, his eyes welled with tears and Sin stepped forward to make sure he was alright only to be halted by the sound of a young boy's voice.

"Dad?!"

"Carl!" Rick screamed and took off running towards the boy. He damn near tackled him to the ground when he reached him. Sin blinked in amazement as she watched. Her heart swelling and a grin finding her lips. He had found him. And when the woman came walking up in complete shock and Rick grabbed her and pulled her to him Sin couldn't quite keep the tears from spilling down her cheeks.

Her Rick found his family.

And that was something good – wasn't it?

 _ **Hey yall! Sorry it took so long, had a long Easter holiday and then did some major clean up with this chapter. My AWESOME Beta had finals as well so there was a lot of lagging going on, but here it is! I hope you enjoy and I want to send love to Constance Bleu for being so amazing and working so hard to help me with my story. Check her out! She has stories of her own too :)**_

 _ **Have a good one yall,**_  
 _ **-C**_


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